


st. michael

by stellam_ignem



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Banter, Implied Sexual Content, Love, M/M, Prayer, Rare Pairings, olivia is in mom mode almost 24/7
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2020-05-14 00:05:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19261909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stellam_ignem/pseuds/stellam_ignem
Summary: Through flashbacks and prayer, Sonny realizes how in love he is. A film into Mike and Sonny's love.





	st. michael

**Author's Note:**

> I binge-watched season 17 like a madman and and wrote this in two days so here we are lmao  
> I look a bunch of scenes from season 17 episodes and ignored the last one kinda so enjoy also for some reason Sonny is praying a lot but mans wanted to be a priest so

“Carisi, this is Sergeant Dodds.”

Sonny glances up from the phone squeezed between his neck and shoulder and sticks out his right hand. Benson chortles and walks back to her office, leaving Sonny to fend for himself. “Yeah, yeah alright, take care,” he hangs up the phone and shakes the sergeant’s hand. “Dominick Carisi Jr. Call me Sonny, ‘s a pleasure,”

“Mike Dodds. Likewise,”

Sonny’s throat feels like he’s stuffed one too many dry biscuits down and unclasps his hand from Mike’s. He’s handsome: broad shoulders, dark hair gracing the side of his head, soft green eyes, a hard crease between his brows that makes him look more prematurely aged than dignified. Sonny doesn’t care. “What uh, what brings you here?” He asks. There’s a replay of Fin’s snide comment in his head when news came of their new superior, being Deputy Chief Dodds’ son and all: _“Wonder how he got his job.”_

Mike smiles, a curt side smirk. “I spent a couple years in Anti-Crime. You can probably tell my dad wanted me to have a change of pace,”

Sonny laughs. “Yeah, ‘s a little obvious,”

Mike smiles again, more polite than anything. “I’ll let you guys take the lead til I can figure out how SVU works,”

“SVU’s a different kinda monster, y’know? Took me a coupla months to figure out what to do. Didn’t help that I bounced from Staten Island to Brooklyn. Then Queens for a week,”

“A week?”

“Don’t ask,”

Mike chuckles. “Got it.”

“You boys done?” Amanda calls from her desk, jerking her head over to where Benson’s standing, phone in hand, speaking. “Just got a call from the Upper East Side, hotel rape. From what I’ve been told, the victim and perp are both socialites so, tread easy. I’ll send the address to your phones and meet you up there later. Carisi,”

Sonny looks up to his lieutenant.

“Show our new sergeant around.”

“You got it,” Sonny throws his coat and scarf over his shoulders. He looks to Mike, who looks more out of place than ever. Sonny can’t help the smile that works over his face. “Looks like you’re riding with me, then,”

“Sounds good,”

“Wanna drive?” Sonny tosses the cruiser keys to Mike before he has the time to respond.

“Guess I don’t have a choice,”

“You’re the new guy, consider this your rite of passage.”

Mike laughs and Sonny feels weak in the knees.

And thus starts Sonny’s ever mind blowing crush.

—

“Fin can I ask you somethin’?”

It’s 2:04am, October 4th, late night stake out on a primary serial rapist-murderer suspect, Zack Wentworth. Couple of months into Dodds’ recent transfer. Sonny wishes he’d listened to himself earlier and had worn two socks, a pair of long Johns under his pants, and had packed extra hand warmers. He can’t feel his face, nor has there been any movement in the rickety apartment complex they’re staring at. Fin looks over, frowning already before picking up the walkie-talkie to talk to Benson and Dodds. “Anything on your side?”

The clip of static comes a second later with Mike’s voice. “No, nothing yet.”

Fin swears under his breath before glancing back over at Sonny, who’s staring so intensively Fin’s afraid his eyes are about to bleed dry. “What?”

“Your son’s gay, right? Not that I have an issue—I swear I don’t have anything against him—”

“Then why’d you bring it up?”

If Sonny could make a list of the people who terrified him Fin would be in the top three. “I—I, uh, I kinda…”

“Man hurry your punk-ass up,”

“I have a crush on the sergeant and I don’t know what to do.” Sonny winces and waits, having been surprised by his own outburst. He looks outside to distract himself, but no movement makes him give up after two seconds. He swivels his head around and bites down on his lip. Fin’s expression is unreadable. “Dodds?”

“Yeah, yeah. Dodds,”

Fin laughs and Sonny stares, incredulous. Odafin Tutuola’s laughed and Sonny’s reeling from what his eyes and ears have witnessed.

“Aw man. I owe Amanda fifty bucks,”

“You what now?” Heat rises to Sonny’s face. “You owe Amanda fifty—what the hell you bet on?”

Fin’s hiding his grin behind a pair of binoculars. “Don’t worry about it man,”

“I will worry ‘bout it when it comes to my fuckin’ love life,”

“We made a bet last month over who the hell you was pining over. I bet on Amanda, she bet on Dodds,”

“How the hell she’d know?”

“Ask her yourself,” Fin lowers his binoculars and sighs, frowning again as he glances back to Sonny. “Is that why you asked about Ken?” His hand travels to the walkie talkie again, as if checking to make sure it’s there.  

“I… yeah. ‘M sorry about bringin’ him up, I didn’t mean anythin’ by it. I just thought… you’d have some advice,”

“Right,”

“I just… fuck, Mike’s so goddamn perfect,”

“We got different definitions of perfect,”

Sonny exhales and rubs his eyes with one hand. The cold’s creeping straight through his clothes again. “He’s just… fuckin’ handsome, first of all, tall glass of water and all that. But he’s confident, he’s damn smart, he’s sweet and I just… I don’t know what the hell to do with myself,”

“You could start by asking me out on a date, Carisi.”

 _That wasn’t…Fin did_ not _—fuck fuck fuck fuck—_

“Mike?” Sonny squeaks. He sees Fin’s hand on the walkie talkie, his thumb pressed down on the button. Sonny wants to melt straight down into the car floor and never see the light of fucking day again. “I… uh, hey. Hi, um,” he coughs, and before he can say anything Zack leaves the apartment complex, ready to embark on his prowl. “Liv we got visual, goin’ down 57th towards the market bodega,” Fin takes over on the walkie talkie and Carisi starts the car. “Don’t fuck up,”

“Alright alright, Rollins already chewed my ear off about my drivin’ with Rudnick,”

“That’s not what I was talkin’ about,”

Carisi swallows and pulls out of the parking spot, lights off, ever so carefully trailing Zack. His hands feel like they’re shaking, and not from the cold. “Nice one, gettin’ me to confess all my feelings in one go,” he mutters, to which Fin rolls his eyes and keeps his eyes trained on Zack. “Been doin’ this since your ass started college.”

Carisi suppresses the urge to groan. His hands tighten on the steering wheel and he manages to swallow a lump down his throat.

“Rollins, you in position?” Fin says into the walkie talkie.

“Unfortunately.” Is the snide response. She’s walking Frannie back and forth beside the bodega and underground club, poised as Zack’s typical victim: blonde, blue eyes, black stockings.

“Remember, we want Rollins out as soon as possible.” Benson reminds over the intercom.

“Copy.”

The second Zack’s arms grab Amanda’s, Sonny’s got the sirens on and Benson’s halfway out the car, shouting, “Police! Stop! Hands up!”

Zack flings Amanda off himself and gives chase, only to be tackled a second later by Mike. They roll on the cement and grapple until Mike’s got Zack’s hands behind his back, forcing the cuffs around his wrists. He yanks Zack to his feet as he Mirandizes him. Sonny bolts out of the car to check on Amanda. “You okay?”

“Yeah yeah, I’m alright,” she looks to the perp. “We got him, didn’t we?”

“Yeah,” Sonny looks to see Benson smirking at him and recalls the last fifteen minutes. _Fuck_.

He braces himself to look at Mike who, besides the mild scrape on his cheek and busted lip, looks hotter than ever and Sonny realizes how fucked he is. He hears Amanda chuckle next to him. “Fin owes me big time,”

“So I’ve heard.”

Sonny let’s go of Amanda, turning on his heels to make his escape as quickly as humanly possible before Mike spots him and—

“Sonny,”

Feet rooted to the sidewalk, Sonny forces himself to turn around and face what angel God’s decided to send down this time. Mike looks even more beautiful up close, all shining eyes and subtle smirk, punctuated by the busted lip and scrape on his cheek. He’s still breathing a bit deeply from the tussle, and Sonny can feel his mouth watering. _Our Father who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done_ —

His prayer’s interrupted when Mike says his name again. “Sonny?”

“Yeah, sorry, I was, uh, never mind,”

Mike smiles, sweet. “About that date—”

“Tell me where and I’ll be there,” Sonny blurts, willing himself to stand a bit taller as he rolls his shoulders back. Mike laughs. “That’s your job,”

“Oh—oh right, yeah, ‘course. Lunch tomorrow?”

“Sure. Surprise me,”

 _Are you saying I haven’t already?_ “Can’t make no promises, Sarge,”

“Hey c’mon, none of that,”

“If you guys are done flirtin’, we’ve got a perp to drop off. Y’all need a ride?” Amanda shouts with a smile, waving from the cruiser Fin’s leaning against.

“We’ll grab a cab,” Mike says, waving goodbye to the squad and Sonny’s trying so desperately not to lose it. His hands are itching to roam every part of Mike’s body, to feel his hot breath against his neck in deep, short pulses, _shit_ —

Mike hails a cab shortly after the squad leaves, another job well done.

“How’s your face?” Sonny asks once he gets inside the cab and recites his address to the driver. Mike looks over, soft confusion drawn over his strong features. “What do you mean?”

“You’re tellin’ me you’ve got no idea you busted your lip and scratched your face?” Sonny murmurs, laughter on the edge of his voice. He pulls out a tissue in his pocket and offers it to Mike, who’s gingerly prodding at his lip and cheek before taking the tissue. “Damn. You’re right,”

“It was probably too cold for you to notice,” Sonny helps.

“Yeah, probably,”

“Are you cold now?” Desire sits heavy in Sonny’s hands and lips.

“Yeah, a little,”

Sonny swallows and closes the bridge of distance between him and Mike’s body, hand reaching out to cup the unscratched cheek. “Lemme warm you up, then.” he murmurs, pressing his lips to Mike’s, careful of the cut lip. Mike doesn’t seem to care. He pushes his body against Sonny’s and squeezes his thigh; Sonny wilts and suppresses the urge to moan as Mike’s lips work him and skin over and over, strong and gentle in all the right places. Sonny succumbs deeper and deeper into Mike’s arms, pressing a hand to his neck.

He feels Mike’s hot breath against his neck when they pull away, hand carding through Mike’s thick brown hair. There’s a soft kiss to his neck before Mike pulls away and Sonny smiles, eyes closed toward the car ceiling. He chuckles and looks over at Mike. “Better than what I’d dreamed of,” he admits softly, thumb making gentle circles on Mike’s thigh.

“I’ve been thinking about that for months,” Mike chuckles, slinging an arm over Sonny’s shoulders. Sonny welcomes the embrace, a soft sigh coming from his lips as Mike gently strokes Sonny’s free cheek with his thumb. “Wanna know somethin’?”

Mike exhales and Sonny sinks deeper. “Yeah, what?”

“You look hot all beat up,”

Mike laughs, deep and warm, which only forces his busted lip to open. Again. Sonny rolls his eyes and rummages around his pockets for another napkin until he finds one and turns to Mike to dab his lip. The sergeant winces and Sonny does his best not to snort. Mike glares. “It’s your fault,”

“What is?”

“My lip,”

“Not like I kissed it open, you just laughed,”

“I was laughing at you,”

“What, I look funny or somethin’?”

“A little, yeah,”

They start laughing again, voices quiet, careful not to bother the driver any more than what they already have. Sonny’s suppressing a laugh that only makes it harder and harder to laugh at nothing, to laugh at this closeness, to laugh at the fact that he’s trying not to laugh. Mike’s wedged a thumb under his teeth, desperate not to smile and make their juvenile humor any worse.

The cab stops outside of Sonny’s apartment. Sonny scrambles to grab his credit card. Before he can pay his fare Mike’s pocketing his change and wallet. “Did you just—”

“Pay for lunch tomorrow and we’ll call it even.”

Sonny sighs and accepts his defeat, smiling softly before kissing Mike one more time, soft and chaste and sweet. Just with warmth. “See you tomorrow?”

“Bet on it.”

—

Lunch couldn’t come any slower and Sonny feels guilty the second that thought goes through his head, because he knows his job is important and that he’s helping people in ways he couldn’t even begin to imagine. He sneaks a glance at Mike, who’s probably checked his watch six times in the past fifteen minutes. Sonny sighs and wraps up the paperwork on Zack, last night’s perp, throwing the casefile in the finished paperwork pile.

It’s only 11:04am, with lunch at 12:30. They’ve hit a lull, and as far as he knows, Liv doesn’t have anything to do for them either. So he stands, typing out a quick text with one hand as the other pushes in his chair and grabs his tan coat. He knocks on Liv’s door. She looks up from her paperwork and beckons him in, pulling off her reading glasses to smile up at Sonny. “What’s up?”

“I was wondering if I could take an early lunch,”

“With Dodds?”

“How’d you—”

“I was with him when you confessed, remember?”

“Oh, yeah, right, uh…”

“Sit down a sec, Carisi. And shut the door.”

He mumbles a quick, “yes ma’am,” shutting the door with a _click_ before making himself comfortable in a chair in front of his lieutenant’s desk. He fidgets with the button on one of his sleeves, concentrating on the speckled tortoise pattern.  

“So. You and Dodds,” Olivia begins.

“Yeah, me ‘n him. It’s not—we haven’t really…” Sonny feels a blush race across his face and he takes a strained breath.

“Done anything?”

“Yeah. It’s still so new, y’know? I mean I didn’t even know he would be into me, in that… that way. I didn’t even know I’d be into him,”

“Right,” Olivia’s smiling gently, her soft eyes twinkling in the late morning light. “You know if you guys get involved, we have to make it known to IAB,”

“Yeah, I know,”

“So for now, enjoy it.”

Sonny blinks. He’s not sure if he’s heard Olivia right. “Come again?”

“Enjoy it. How long have you known?”

“Known what?”

“That you’ve liked him,”

“…day one. Second you introduced him to us,”

Olivia’s eyes widen a fraction. She’s unable to keep the surprise off her face, but smiles regardless. “That long?”

“Oh yeah, that long,”

“Well you weren’t good at hiding it,”

Sonny laughs bitterly. “Yeah, I know. Fin was tellin’ me last night that he and Rollins’d made a bet to see who the fuck I was crushin’ on,”

Olivia chuckles, warm and enthused. “Who won?”

“Amanda. Fin thought I was after her,”

“Yeah, so did I,”

“Well okay,” Sonny readjusts himself, shoulders lowering and legs crossing, comfortable. “In the beginning I sorta did. She did too, but it didn’t take us long to realize we weren’t for each other, y’know? Non-compatibility and all that,”

“Yeah, I do know,” Olivia sits back and puts her glasses back in their case. “Take lunch and take him with you. Hopefully the city can keep it down for an hour while you guys are gone,”

Sonny smiles wide and is up too fast for his body to register. He trips over the chair leg when he turns and Olivia laughs. “I still need you in one piece,”

“Copy that.”

He bodies Mike full force when he leaves the office and he swears he hears Olivia suppressing a bark of laughter. “Jesus, sorry, you all right?” Sonny exclaims. He’s not sure if he’s asking Mike or asking himself.

Mike’s pink around the cheeks, his facial wounds almost healed, looking just as startled as Sonny. “Yeah, I’m fine. Are you?”

“Sure yeah, uh, you ready for lunch?”

“Yeah. Just give me a second to talk to the lieutenant about last night’s perp and we can go.” Mike reassures, stepping out of Sonny’s way to let him through. Sonny walks to his desk, sinks into his chair and face plants into his paperwork. Amanda and Fin are wheezing with laughter and all he wants to do is melt away. Forever.

“Amanda, please tell me you got that on tape,” Fin manages.

“Holy shit, I wish. Did you see—see the way he…?”

They look at each other and break down again. Sonny pinches the skin at his wrist and counts to ten before lifting his body off his desk. Before he can say anything in his defense Olivia’s door opens and Mike walks out. Stern as ever, hot as ever. Sonny looks to his phone to see the text he’s received.

_I’m still hoping for that surprise, sweetheart._

He feels like his chest is simultaneously opening and closing like bird wings. He feels like throwing up and giddy all at once, and it all fades when Mike meets him at his desk. “Ready?”

“Yeah, yeah, ‘m ready.”

They leave the precinct and Sonny starts towards the smallest hole in the wall. “You a fan of ramen?” He asks, once the initial embarrassment has worn off.

“We talking instant ramen?”

“Hell nah, none of that crap. Like authentic ramen,”

“No, actually. That where we’re going?”

“Yeah. Surprise?”

Mike laughs and Sonny’s heart eases just so. “Honestly? I would not have guessed ramen.”

“Good, so I’ve done my job so far,”

“Sure,”

Sonny scoffs and bumps his shoulder against Mike’s, grinning at the ground before looking up in time to stop himself from oncoming traffic. Mike’s hand is wrapped around his arm and he yanks back, having misjudged Sonny’s own judgement, before a taxi flashes by. “Sonny where are you going?” He catches the laugh in his throat before it comes out, and Sonny’s eyes go straight to their point of contact. “Shit, my bad. Good catch,”

“Thanks. I don’t let things slip past me,”

“That so?” Sonny shifts closer to Mike’s arm, that in turn wraps around Sonny’s waist, however momentary. There’s a small squeeze on his waist and then the pressure’s gone, like a ghost, like something that Sonny can’t help but pine for over and over again. “There better be more where that came from,” he jokes, willing his legs to move when the streets are cleared for them both.

When their feet hit the sidewalk on the other side Mike jams his hands in his pockets and stands up a little straighter. He gives Sonny a subtle smirk, and Sonny has to use every shred of self-control in his body to keep himself from pushing Mike into the nearest alleyway and have him take him right there.

“You have no idea.”

They make it to the ramen bar without incident, small talking about work and the lot. It’s small, cozy, lit up with rustic light bulbs on strings and the occasional Chinese lantern. It’s longer than it is wide, the hustle and bustle of the kitchen making up the background noise. They’re seated in a booth, face to face, quietly taking off their winter wear before browsing the menu.

“What’s good here?” Mike asks, glancing over the menu to see Sonny focused on his face.

“What?” Sonny realizes he’s caught and clears his throat. “Oh, sorry, uh I think the…” he blushes and all of a sudden he can’t read.

“Hey,” Sonny looks up to see Mike’s hand slip into his palm. Calmness like a tidal wave washes over his eyes, his face, his body, a wonderful calm.

“It’s okay,” Mike says, and Sonny feels the tension in his body loosen second by second. Sonny nods. “I know, ‘m sorry—”

“For what?”

Sonny’s shocked into silence, warmth flooding his chest. “Good question,”

Mike smiles and Sonny watches his thumb run over his knuckles. It’s like Mike knows exactly what to do, when to do it, everything, all of it. “I’m just nervous, ‘s all. Look, I didn’t even know you’d be into me like… like that,” he explains, the vice around his throat slowly loosening. “And now we’re here, on duty, but technically on a _date_ for cryin’ out loud,”

Sonny watches the crease between Mike’s brows soften, his eyes glimmer in the golden light, laughter lines etching themselves into his skin. “I know. If it makes you feel any better, I almost thought your confession was about someone else and that crushed me,”

“Excuse me, are you ready to order?” A mousy waitress stands next to Sonny, notepad in hand and pen ready. Sonny pulls away and busies himself with his usual order. “Trust me to order for you?” He asks, glancing towards Mike. He gets a smile and nod. “Two spicy chicken ramen, please,”

“How would you like the eggs cooked?”

“Medium boil, please. Thanks,”

They surrender their menus. Mike gets up and Sonny’s eyes follow him, worry overcoming his heart, until Mike shoos him over to have them sit next to each other. Sonny moves wordlessly, pleasantly surprised by the lips on his and the hand on his neck, gently caressing the skin there with a thumb. Sonny exhales when Mike pulls away, his eyes still closed, his hands searching for something to hold and settling for Mike’s free hand. It’s rough, the knuckles marred with scars once Sonny opens his eyes and looks down. “Better?” Mike asks, and Sonny nods before leaning his head against Mike’s cologned shoulder. “Much,” he murmurs. “You box?”

“Yeah, actually. How could you tell?”

“Besides that Adonis figure of yours? Your hands,”

Mike chuckles. Sonny watches as the boxer hands wrap over his, rough and gentle. “I know boxin’ scars when I see ‘em,”

“Why? Run into a lot of ‘em?”

“Shut up, I started boxing in seventh grade, all the way up to senior year of high school,” Sonny confesses, straightening his posture to look Mike in the eye, hands still entangled. Mike smiles, surprised, and Sonny can’t stop the smile on his face to match.

“Really?”

“Oh yeah. Ask my ma for pictures, she’ll show you what I looked like in middle school. A complete mess, if I’m honest,”

“Couldn’t have been that bad,”

“What, like you had it worse?”

Mike laughs. “I mean, I had those braces with the headgear, the one you’d have to wrap around your head completely,”

Sonny gawks, sending them both into a fit of laughter. “You’re joking,”

“Listen, all I have to do is text my mom. She has the evidence,”

Sonny snorts and brushes a hand over his hair, wincing internally at the amount of product that comes off onto his hand. He takes a napkin and presses it into his palm, smile dancing at the edge of his lips.

“Maybe I can get you back into the ring sometime,” Mike suggests, sitting back and pushing his knees out just a bit further.

Sonny sucks on his teeth and grins to the side. “It’s been awhile. Besides,” he looks up and runs a thumb over the healing cut on Mike’s lip. “I can’t bring myself to bust that pretty face of yours, y’know?”

Mike scoffs and rolls his eyes, all in good nature. “Like you could,”

“What are ya? Middleweight?”

“Yeah. Can you go up against me?”

“Hey now, I make sure to practice. I got a mean left hook,”

“I bet you do,”

“You sayin’ I’m a liar?” Sonny playfully elbows Mike, who swats the elbow away.

“No, ‘course not,”

Their order comes in the middle of their brief tussle, forcing them to separate above the table. Below, Sonny presses his thigh against Mike’s, relishing quietly in the warmth between their bodies. He pulls out chopsticks and a spoon, vaguely remembering how much he’d been chastised by his last date here on utensil etiquette. Great lesson, poor date.

He looks over to Mike, who looks more than confused on what to do. “Havin’ trouble?” Sonny chides gently, fitting his hands over Mike’s to show him. “Put your middle finger here, this one here—no, baby, here… alright, good, now you gotta use the spoon to help the noodles stay in place… good, perfect,”

Sonny notices it takes Mike all of two seconds to figure out how to work the chopsticks. He feels something stir in his gut, something a little like pride and a warmth he can’t put his finger on. They eat in comfortable silence for a minute.

“Time?” Sonny asks around a mouthful of noodles.

“12:36,” is the muffled reply.

“What time we gotta be back?”

“We left at what, 11:45? So 12:45,”

“Yeah we shou—shit,”

“What?”

“I got broth on my pants,”

“Is it visible?”

“Not really,”

“Then you should be okay,”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Sarge,”

“C’mon,” Mike wipes his mouth clean and gets up as Sonny does the same. He brushes at his pants in a last attempt to get the broth off, only to see the slightest puddle on his thigh. “Mike look,”

“What? I don’t see anything. C’mon, we gotta head back,”

“I don’t have a pair of pants I can change into,”

“Listen you’re fine. I’m not gonna lie to you, Sonny,”

Sonny gets up to take Mike’s outstretched hand and is met with a chaste kiss. “I have a pair in my locker you can borrow if it gets worse,” Mike reminds, and Sonny sighs with a soft smile. “Alright,”

“Good. You ready?”

“Yeah.”

Sonny’s heart breaks a little when Mike lets go of his hand when they get outside, but he understands. A cruiser from their precinct drives by; Sonny recognizes the unis inside and pockets his hands as Mike’s cell rings. He bumps into Mike’s taller frame, having been distracted by the pigeons on the side of the road. He mumbles a, “sorry,” and backs up, caught only by Mike’s free hand and a gentle squeeze that eases him.

“Okay, got it. See you there, Lieutenant,”

Sonny looks at Mike expectantly, eyes eager and demeanor gentle. “What’s up?”

“We got an incident at Central Park, a gay prostitute was found dead, pants down. CSU’s processing the scene and Dr. Warner suspects foul play. We should go n—you okay?”

Sonny hasn’t realized he’s shaking, and not because of the cold. He’s also staring too intensely at the stoplight ahead. “What? Yeah, no I’m fine,”

“If I won’t lie to you, don’t lie to me,” Mike says softly, closer than arm’s length would like. Sonny bites his lip and glances up, meeting green warmth and comfort. “It’s just… a gay man? And we were just out on a date…”

“What are you trying to say?”

“You don’t think it’s a sign?”

“Of what?”

Sonny gives Mike his best “really?” look, only for it to go unacknowledged. “Don’t read into it, Sonny,”

“If you say so,” Sonny mumbles, unconvinced and quieter than before. He lets Mike take his forearm and give it a gentle squeeze. “Look at me,”

Sonny sighs and gives in. He’s not prepared to see the compassion he’s met with, and he feels his insecure facade begin to break, stumbling forward when Mike gives him a gentle pull forward. “There’s nothing to worry about when you’re with me. I don’t even want you thinkin’ like that, hey…” Sonny smiles when Mike catches him slipping. It’s a shy smile, the steady pressure on his arm easing his ricochet heart.

“Let’s just do our jobs. But whenever you’re with me, there’s nothing, and I mean _nothing_ , you have to worry about.”

“Alright.”

Mike glances around and sneaks a gentle kiss to Sonny’s lips, gone before Sonny can savor the moment.

“Who’s drivin’, me or you?” Sonny asks, walking in near perfect tandem with Mike’s longer strides. Mike smirks and looks over. “Want me to pull rank?”

“Hey, I got it. Back to bein’ the new guy again,”

“It’s not a bad look on you.”

“Shut up.”

—

“Sonny? I’m home,” Mike takes off his coat and scarf, hanging them up on the hooks adjacent to the door. It’s still cold in New York in March. His apartment is quiet, lights off, and it doesn’t take Mike more than two seconds to realize something’s wrong. “Sonny?” he calls again, concern edging into his voice, shoes off as he investigates the kitchen, the bathroom, the balcony. Nothing. He tries Sonny’s cellphone, nothing but silence and a dead end.

Before Mike can panic, he remembers today’s the closing day of the Father Eugene case. He sighs and dresses again, checking his watch: 7:17pm. Traffic to Staten Island’s more than hellish right now, but there isn’t anything Mike wouldn’t do for Sonny. As far as he knows.

He doesn’t get to the church until 8:42pm. It’s beautiful, reminiscent of a more modern and smaller Notre Dame. He parks and locks the doors, careful not to slip in the cold slush mix of snow and salt.

 

_“You know I wanted to be a priest when I was younger?” Sonny says, smiling as he snuggles against Mike’s broad chest. It’s late at night, the work day more than successful. Sonny smirks at the reward’s Mike’s given him: sex so good reminders start to blossom on his skin and his insides churn with pleasure. He’s worn, content, meeting Mike’s sex-hazed eyes. “I believe it. Fin did tell me your nickname was Saint Sonny,”_

_“Are you serious? Oh my god,”_

_They laugh and quiet together. Sonny distracts his hands by outlining the muscles on Mike’s chest, still surprised by their strength, and the weight that had made Sonny sink deep into the mattress has him closing his eyes just to control himself. Not that he couldn’t go for another round._

_“I was born and raised in the church. For the longest time I really did wanna be a priest,”_

_“What changed your mind?”_

_Sonny shrugs. “Figured I’d be able to do more if I was a cop, y’know… I still go to Mass on Sundays,”_

_“That’s why you’re always missing Sunday morning, huh?”_

_“What, you miss me?” Sonny teases, laughing when he’s met with a scoff and suppressed smile._

_“No,”_

_“Baby, y’know lying’s a sin,” Sonny turns until his weight’s all on Mike’s chest, sighing softly when Mike’s hand traces his back._

_“Whatever you say. Can I…”_

_“What, baby?”_

_“Can I come with you one day? To Mass?”_

_Sonny smiles, and he can’t explain just how much his heart’s swelling with pride. “Yeah, yes, ‘course,”_

_“Where do you go?”_

_“St. Peter’s on Staten Island,”_

_“You drive all the way out there every Sunday?”_

_“What can I say? Old habits die hard.”_

 

Mike opens the door to the cathedral and takes a minute to marvel at the white marble and rose windows spilling with color in the sunset. It’s empty, save for one or two souls in the back, and Sonny in the front. Mike can recognize his lover’s silhouette anywhere.

When he reaches the pew Sonny’s at, muscle memory guides one knee down and his thumb over his forehead, chest, heart, then right shoulder. He slips into the pew, almost touching Sonny, listening to heartfelt and watery mumbles and soft sobs, unmoving. He already knows Sonny hasn’t slept for days but to see why, and to feel incapable at healing or helping breaks his heart. He looks up at Christ, nailed to the cross and head tossed listlessly to the side. Mike interlocks his fingers and looks down, and begins to pray. His lips move, muscle memory, before he can stop himself.

“Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name… thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us… and… and lead us not into temptation but deliver us from evil. For thine is the kingdom, the power, and the glory, forever and ever. Amen.”

“Amen.”

Mike opens his eyes and turns to a watery sob next to him. He reaches out to touch Sonny’s hands, the rosary not cold nor hot beneath his palm, and strokes the soft skin of Sonny’s hands. He’s sobbing, silently, stopping only to gasp for air and Mike pulls him into his chest, one hand cradling blonde hair and the other grasping at the hand holding the rosary. He doesn’t forget how much Sonny just shakes under his hands, how each watery cough and sob pushes him closer to tears. He buries his nose in blonde hair and wills himself to stay quiet. He finds himself muttering a prayer his mother would recite before coming to God with her deepest struggles.

“Holy Spirit,” he begins, voice soft and barely audible, “Sweet Guest of my soul, abide in me and grant that I may ever abide in Thee.” Eyes closed, Sonny still shaking, he prays. What, he doesn’t know. At some point he knows he mentions St. Michael, his namesake and Sonny’s patron saint, wondering if the archangel has any interest at all in an ex-believer cradling his devout lover, begging for a more forgiving, gentle world. A world that doesn’t rip Sonny’s faith to shreds and abandons him when he needs it most. A world gentle like Sonny’s smile and soft hands, like his sleepy laughter and love.

Sonny stops crying and resorts to soft sniffling and shaky breathing, grimacing at the wet mess he’s left on Mike’s dress shirt. He’s afraid to look up and is grateful Mike doesn’t force his face; he feels dirty and abandoned and he can’t compare to someone he considers a patron saint. Saint Michael himself.

His relief is short lived when Mike wipes at his face, always so soft and loving, and murmurs a gentle, “Do you want to go home?”

Sonny looks up at Christ, then back to Mike, and nods. “But can we… can we wait?”

Mike bites back a sob that threatens to break through his lips, threading his fingers through Sonny’s hair. “Yeah, yeah, anything you need,”

Sonny smiles, watery, and leans his head back on Mike’s chest to find the tiny necklace of St. Michael under the white dress shirt. He’s noticed Mike’s kept the buttons open today, no tie, and begins to fiddle with the silver medallion between his fingers. “Has He abandoned us?” Sonny whispers to no one in particular. He feels an answer bubble in Mike’s chest and knows it’s futile the second Mike doesn’t respond fast enough. Sonny continues regardless. “I mean… how could he let this happen? Those girls, Sister Nina… they all— _none_ of them deserved what’d happened and-and the bishop and monsignor s-still  _dared_ to call themselves men of God. Why?” Sonny grips the lapels of Mike’s coat, begging for an answer that doesn’t come and is on the verge of crying again.

“I don’t know, Sonny. If I could give you the right answer I would. I always would,” Mike whispers carefully, kissing over Sonny’s tear-worn eyes before placing a soft kiss to his swollen lips. Sonny wilts forward and collapses into Mike’s arms, tears falling again, gripping his lover like his life depends on it. “Please take me home.” He begs, his heart reverberating with pain and anger and a cold kind of loneliness.

Mike says nothing and guides the two of them up and out onto the floor. Before they leave Sonny dips his fingers in holy water and crosses himself. Mike copies before they’re met with a wintry gust of wind, now that the sun’s abandoned the sky.

Mike eases Sonny into the passenger seat. When he slides into the driver’s seat and starts the car, he takes Sonny’s hand with the rosary and kisses it, keeping it in his lap, intertwined with his own hand the entire way home.

He helps Sonny undress, gentle dancing across pale skin.

“Do you want to shower?”

Sonny shakes his head.

Mike pulls out his faded Army sweater from his dresser and helps Sonny into it, placing a kiss on his forehead. The sweater’s loose everywhere, making Sonny look just that much smaller and vulnerable. Mike despises it. He moves back to the shower but Sonny’s hand clamps around his wrist and keeps him in place. “Where are you going?” His voice is coarse and heavy, having been worn out by his crying.

“Just to shower, I’ll be back before you have time to miss me,” Mike promises, unwrapping Sonny’s fingers from his wrist. Sonny frowns, unconvinced, but retreats under covers to face the wall, fetal position.

It takes Mike all of eight minutes and some swearing to finally curl up beside Sonny who, despite his best efforts, can’t hide the occasional sniff and cough. Mike slithers an arm over Sonny’s waist, simultaneously pulling himself and his lover closer together. His grip doesn’t falter, and Sonny’s more than willing to abandon his inhibitions in the embrace of his love.

“Sonny?”

“…yeah?”

“Remember what I told you, on our first date?”

“Y-yeah, uhm,” Sonny clears his throat and readjusts his body, embracing the warmth that Mike’s chest envelops him in. “You said that when I’m with you, there’s nothin’ I have to worry about,”

“Did you believe me?”

“Of course,”

“Do you believe me now?”

Silence is enough an answer. Mike buries his nose in Sonny’s hair and closes his eyes. The night isn’t ready for that conversation.

Just as Mike falls away into dreamland, he hears the softest voice say: “I’ll always believe you. I love you.”

Sonny feels the body draped over him grow heavy, having confessed, and closes his eyes for a short prayer.

_If God’s taught me anything these past couple months, it’s that I love you, Michael Dodds. God knows how much I love you. You’ve accepted me, forgiven my sins, loved me so naturally you made it seem like breathing. Father, I beg you. Keep him safe. What I’d be without him or his love is someone I wouldn’t recognize anymore. Give him comfort, give him peace. Please, Father. Please._

Sonny falls asleep and dreams of nothing.

—

When Mike dies, Sonny’s there to witness the flatline. He remembers shouting for help, sobbing when the nurses push him out of the room and into Olivia who, bless her soul, tries to calm him down. He doesn’t fight her, only sinks to his knees and sobs into her shoulder when they announce time of death. The squad steps aside to let Sonny in first, the picture of grief, who collapses against Mike’s chest and cries, loud and raw. “Baby no, please come back to me—please, Mike, no—I love you, _please_.”

It’s Amanda who has to pull him off Mike’s still-warm body and instead keeps it close to hers, murmuring soft reassurances despite her own mourning. Sonny doesn’t hear a word she says.

He cries for days after Mike’s passing. He’s the first at the funeral, one of the pallbearers, and he can feel the weight of everyone’s sadness on his shoulders, the lover. He’s the last to leave, a ghost of Olivia’s squeeze on his shoulder the only thing keeping him from putting himself six feet under. He gets up and drops a rose onto the casket, nausea overwhelming him before he runs to his car and pukes into the bushes nearby. His entire body trembles as he pushes the back of his hand across his mouth and coughs bitterly, hacking up whatever’s last stuck to his throat. He looks up to the sky as it starts to rain and finds refuge in his car before the sky breaks. He pulls out his rosary, the one with the golden crucifix that Mike had gotten him for their six month anniversary, closes his eyes, and prays.

Nothing comes. For the first time in his life, he can’t think of one thing to say that he hasn’t said already. He drops his head to the steering wheel and covers his face as he sobs, rosary dangling from between his fingers.

Olivia puts him on a one month mandatory leave, not that Sonny would be over the grief in a month. She can’t have him show up to work hungover and so sleep-deprived he’ll nearly collapse. At least he remembers to shower and shave on a daily basis.

“Don’t hole yourself up in your apartment,” she tells him in the seclusion of her office. “Get out of New York for a while. We’ll be fine without you, Carisi,”

“Lieu, I can’t—”

“You can’t or you won’t? I’m not asking you to leave, Carisi, I’m giving you an order. You need time to grieve,”

“Why?” He snaps, regret flooding his shoulders when he sees Olivia look taken aback. “Lieu I’m sorry, I—”

“It’s alright. But I rest my case,”

“Where can I go?” Sonny slumps in his chair and rubs his eyes with his hands. “I can’t get him out of my mind. When he passed I wasn't even living in my apartment anymore, just his,” his voice breaks, “all my shit’s there, so’s he, and I can’t abandon him like I did before,” he weeps into his hands.

Olivia gets up from her desk and sits next to Carisi, laying a soothing hand on his back and rubbing back and forth. “You never abandoned him,”

“I was the one supposed to go to Munson’s, not him,”

“Then what? He’d be where you are?”

Sonny manages to ease his breath. Olivia continues. “We can’t change the past, Sonny. And I need you to be at your best and right now, you’re not there and that’s okay. You can’t help anyone if you can’t help yourself. If you don't do this for you, do it for the people you’re trained to help. Do it in honor of Mike’s memory,”

Sonny nods once.

Olivia sighs and sits back, deep pain settling in her chest as she watches Sonny entangle his hands together, eyes concentrated on the floor. She can’t tell him what she knows, and every fiber in her body is itching to, dying to.

 

_“It’ll compromise the mission,” Deputy Chief Dodds looks at Olivia over a crystalline glass of whiskey, exhausted eyes enunciated by the darkening bags under his eyes._

_“How, Chief? Carisi is tearing himself apart, at least let me tell him Mike’s UC and that his death was staged. He doesn’t need to know more than that,”_

_“You know I can’t. The Brass is already so far up my ass for you knowing, I can’t risk Carisi. We’ll all risk losing our jobs,”_

_“Did you force him into the Joint Terrorism stint?”_

_Dodds sets his glass down and braces his arms on his desk, voice hostile. “What are you implying, Lieutenant?”_

_“You know exactly what I’m implying. He didn’t want to keep moving up the ranks, he wanted to stay at SVU but you decided to make his decisions for him,”_

_“So I’ve heard,”_

_“So you force him to fake his death and lose the man that he loves?” Olivia stops herself before she starts shouting. The hand in her pocket is balled so tightly the ring on it is digging under her skin._

_“He speaks some Arabic and served in Special Forces, the Feds were itching for him to join. He’ll be commended for his heroism and rest will be history. He’ll be Police Commissioner before you know it,”_

_Olivia scoffs and shakes her head, blinking to keep her angry tears from spilling over. “And Carisi?” She says, voice careful and level, not betraying the rage in her throat._

_“If he was a woman I’d say he’s a distraction,”_

_“Oh, so you’re a homophobe, too?” She snaps._

_“I didn’t finish.” Dodds pours Olivia some whiskey, a small peace offering. She pauses, sits down, and begrudgingly takes the alcohol._

_“He told me about them. Took me awhile to… understand it, get it. Then he tells me they wanted to get married. Did you know?”_

_Olivia stills._

_“I’ll take that as a no,”_

_“I wasn’t aware,”_

_“He found out about the faked death in the hospital. Feds wanted to keep everything under lock and key,”_

_“And if you’d known?”_

_Dodds shrugs. “I can’t say what I would’ve done.”_

_Olivia shakes her head and takes a sip of her drink as Dodds opens a drawer at his desk. He pulls out a small evidence bag with a silver necklace in it. “Give this to Carisi,”_

_Olivia reaches over and takes the bag. She recognizes the medallion at the end of the chain: St. Michael the Archangel._

_“It’s Mike’s, keepsake of his mother. He wanted me to give it to Carisi,”_

_“Why don’t you?”_

_When Dodds doesn’t answer Olivia draws her own conclusions. “Because you can’t confront the damage you’ve caused,” the whiskey tastes bitter in her mouth._

_“Can you blame me?”_

_“What do you think?”_

 

Olivia grips Sonny’s shoulder and gets up. She walks around her desk and pulls out a card, holding it out to Carisi. He recognizes it immediately and shakes his head. “No, Liv, I’m not gonna see a shrink,”

“Dr. O’Hara is a grief specialist. I’ve sent so many victims to him and they have nothing but amazing things to say about him,”

“So what, now I’m a victim to you?”

“That’s not what I meant. I’m trying to say that it’s okay to get help,” she murmurs gently, hand with the business card still extended. “You don’t have to go through this alone.”

Sonny takes the card and pockets it too quickly for Olivia’s liking. At least he takes it.

“If you decide to go, let me know. I’ll call Dr. O’Hara ahead of time so he can prepare and we’ll use the utmost discretion. You deserve to be happy, Sonny,” Olivia’s voice wavers and Sonny looks up.

“Do I?”

“Yes, you do.”

Carisi refuses to believe it. He stands and walks to the door and Olivia remembers. “Sonny wait,”

He turns, silent, eyes permanently red. He watches Olivia pulls out a tiny, clear and red evidence bag and gives it to him. “What’s th—”

He’d recognize that patron saint anywhere. His knees are close to buckling as he takes the necklace out of the bag, rubbing the medallion between his fingertips. “How’d you…?”

“Dodds came over. Wanted me to give it to you,” she hates the lie the second it comes out of her mouth.

Sonny nods and opens the necklace’s clasp, fumbling behind his neck until he can close the silver chain. It rests cold on his chest but he presses it into his skin, giving the medallion a chaste kiss before tucking it under his collar. “Thank you,” he says, and Olivia extends a hand to shake that Sonny takes. They look at each other, somber, before Olivia pulls him in for a hug and rubs his back. “We’ll see you soon,” she says, and Sonny struggles to keep the tears in his eyes from dripping onto Olivia’s shoulder.

He’s goddamn lucky.

Amanda and Fin stand by his desk, looking forlorn and solemn. Fin claps his back and squeezes his shoulder. “If you need anything, you give me a call, alright?”

Sonny manages a soft smile and nod, shaking Fin’s hand in silent agreement. He turns to look at Amanda, who kisses his cheek and wraps her arms around his neck. When they pull away a tear escapes his eye and she wipes it with her sleeve. “Hey now, honey,” she begins. It’s the first time Sonny’s noticed how her Georgian accent bleeds through when she talks softly. “If you need us, you tell us, alright? Doesn’t matter when or why, just use that phone of yours. And don’t be a stranger to Jesse. She misses her Uncle Sonny and his bouncing knees a lot,” Sonny lets himself chuckle at that as he agrees. “Okay. Thank you.”

He grabs his suit jacket and keys, sending a half-hearted wave behind him as he leaves.

—

Two and a half years in Joint Terrorism and in “defending the country’s honor” has left Mike more angry than righteous. Two and a half years of sleeping alone, of beatdowns to prove his worth to the Saudi terrorist ring, of restless days and even more painful nights.

Of witnessing his own funeral on television and Sonny’s cracking porcelain face. It’s like someone pulled his heart out and ripped it into pieces, to see his love, his Sonny, devastated. He’s rummaged around on Sonny’s Instagram, Facebook, a selfish part of him praying Sonny hasn’t forgotten him and moved on to someone already. Nothing confirms nor denies his guilty wishes.

He calls Olivia when he quits Joint Terrorism.

“Benson,” as always, the professional reply.

“Lieutenant, it’s me,”

There’s a pause over the receiver and the distant shutting of the door. “Dodds?”

“Is Sonny okay? Please, that’s all I need to know,”

Olivia sighs over the receiver. “He’s lost the love of his life, what do you think?”

Mike bites his lip and looks down at his shoes. “I’m going to go see him tonight,”

“You sure that’s a good idea?”

“What else am I supposed to do? I can’t fly away when my home’s here… I just need to know where he lives,”

“Last I heard he moved back into his old apartment,”

“Thank you, Lieutenant,”

“It’s Captain, now. And listen. I’ve heard you’ve made lieutenant and we’re still short-staffed. So if you need a place to be, SVU’s always open to you.”

Mike smiles and breathes a sigh of relief, involuntary tears falling down his face. “Thank you, Captain Benson.”

He hangs up and begins his walk to Sonny’s apartment. A cab would get him there in thirty minutes, but he suspects that’s too little time to tell Sonny everything he’s wanted to say. He doesn’t even know where to begin and suddenly wonders if Sonny's ever found the ring box in the chest pockets of one of his suits.

He finds himself standing in front of the old brownstone, hands fiddling with each other as he follows an older woman in. She looks him up and down and squints. Mike knows she’s Sonny’s across the hall neighbor and has definitely caught him leaving the apartment before.

“Do I know you?”

“Yes, ma’am,”

“How?”

“I’m a friend of Sonny’s,”

Realization dawns on her face as she trudges up the stairs and stops at her door. She turns to watch Mike stand in front of Sonny’s door, completely motionless. Then he knocks.

 

_“Do you want kids?”_

_Mike looks up at Sonny through a mouthful of Chinese takeout and raises a brow. “Where’s this coming from?”_

_“C’mon, ‘s an honest question,”_

_“Do you?”_

_“Definitely. Two girls and two boys—or,” Sonny laughs at the panic on Mike’s face. “A boy ‘n a girl.” He leans back on one arm as he sits on the table._

_Mike wipes his mouth with a napkin and looks around the office. It’s empty, save for them and their overtime. He scoots forward on a rolling chair and settles his arms on Sonny’s lap, welcomed by a kiss on the lips and gentle fingers through his hair._

_“Hey,” Sonny murmurs, eyes honey sweet and gentle._

_“Hey,”_

_“So, kids?”_

_Mike thinks. “A girl, definitely. But with the job we have, seeing what we see, you can’t protect anyone from that, not even our own kids,”_

_Sonny frowns and absentmindedly strokes his thumb along Mike’s jawline. “Yeah, know what you mean. But not for lack of tryin’,”_

_Mike nods once, hands traveling up Sonny’s thighs to grip his hips before yanking him off the table, into his welcoming lap. Sonny laughs in surprise, arms wrapping around Mike’s neck as his legs awkwardly fumble through each gap between the armrest and the chair. “You ever think of names?”_

_“For kids?”_

_“Yeah,”_

_“‘Course, but I’d let you choose,”_

_Sonny pauses. “You’d have kids with me?”_

_Mike sighs and squeezes Sonny’s thighs just so, like he’s an anchor. He chooses his words carefully, heart beating doubly in this throat. “I want to marry you someday. Kids with you sounds like a dream,”_

_Sonny stills and covers his mouth with his hand. He’s tearing up and Mike panics, unsure what to do, until Sonny wipes his eyes and gives a reassuring laugh. “I want to marry you, too. And you’d be an amazing father,”_

_Mike’s heart beats faster in his chest as he slips his arms around Sonny’s waist to keep him close. He kisses a line up Sonny’s chest, waiting to be met halfway and Sonny obliges._

_He kisses Mike, hips rubbing together, soft moan escaping between his lips. Mike straightens himself and grips the table with one hand to keep them level, lips leaving Sonny’s to find his neck, exposed collarbone, the teardrop under his Adam’s apple. Sonny lets out a sharp gasp when Mike bites ever so softly, head leaning back as his hand cards through brown hair._

_Mike stops and Sonny whines. “Baby…”_

_“Let’s go home and I’ll do everything you want me to.”_

_Sonny scrambles to his feet and grabs his keys and clears the table in record time, to which Mike laughs at. He takes Sonny’s hand, soft and nimble, into his. “Amelia,”_

_“Huh?”_

_“If I had a daughter, I’d name her Amelia. After my grandmother,”_

_Sonny squeezes Mike’s hand and smiles, warmly. “That’s beautiful, baby,”_

_“You should name our son,”_

Our _son. Sonny’s about to melt with how beautiful that sounds. He thinks. “Antonio. Or Marco,”_

_“Not Dominick?”_

_“Nah. There can only be me and my dad, y’know?”_

_Mike chuckles and presses the button to the elevator, thumb running over Sonny’s fingers. “You choose a middle name for our daughter, and I’ll choose one for our son,”_

_“Deal,”_

_The elevator opens and they step inside. Sonny thinks. “Elena,” he decides. “It’s the second name on my list,”_

_“You have a list?”_

_“Only you know about it. Don’t go around tellin’ my secret,”_

_“It’s safe with me. But wait, not even your sisters know?”_

_“Absolutely not and I’d like to keep it that way,”_

_Mike draws in Sonny and kisses his forehead, chuckling quietly as he thinks of a middle name for their future son. “Connor.” he decides._

_“Strong. Like his dad.”_

_The elevator doors open and they keep their hands intertwined before emerging into the summer night. It’s cool, not devastatingly humid like earlier, and they walk towards the subway. “When we get married,” Sonny begins, drawing himself closer to his lover, “what’re we going to do with our last names?”_

_Mike shrugs. “I’ve always liked yours. I don’t mind taking it,”_

_“What is it people are doing these days? Hyphenating?”_

_“Sure, but Carisi-Dodds is a mouthful,”_

_“I don’t think so. Listen: Michael Carisi-Dodds,” Sonny looks up at Mike, revelation in his eyes. “Baby, you’re gonna sound perfect,”_

_Sonny makes a good point. It doesn’t sound as terrible as Mike had thought, and he takes it. “Your last name first?”_

_“Obviously.”_

 

Sonny perks up at rapping on his door. He swears as he pulls on his sweatpants and nearly knocks over the tea he’d been nursing, throwing his legal pad and notes for the case he’d been running with Barba. “Comin’!” He calls, fixing his hair and wiping his mouth as he darts across the apartment floor to open the door. He opens and time stops.

_I saw you die._

He gasps for air, tears springing to his eyes, backing away slowly. “No no no no, hell _no_ ,”

“Sonny…”

“Who the hell are you? What goddamn sick joke is this?”

“Sonny, it’s me, baby please—”

“No, it’s not _you_ , Mike, who the fuck do you think you are? This a joke to you?”

“No, it’s me, Mike, let me explain—”

“ _I saw you die!”_ Sonny doesn’t know who the outburst surprises more, him or the Devil’s apparition. He chokes on his tears and stumbles back, sobs etching into his chest as he collapses to his knees. Mike catches him, first instinct, and is met by weak pushing and resistance.

“Don’t touch me, don’t…”

“Elena,”

Sonny stops crying. He looks up at this person, this Devil’s apparition, the same one that closes the door behind them. “What did you say?” It comes out as more of a rasp than a demand.

“You wanted our daughter’s middle name to be Elena. Second name on your list. We were gonna get married, and… and we were gonna hyphenate our last names, yours first.”

Sonny feels his body turn to stone. The tears jump back, now silent, as he forces his hand to caress Mike’s cheek down to his neck. He digs a thumb under the buttoned collar, using both hands to rip it open. There it is: Sonny’s old rosary, wrapped around Mike’s neck. A trade off for the golden one Mike’d gotten him for their anniversary. Realization washes over him like a cold tidal wave.

“Where’d you go? Why’d you leave me?”

“I swear, Sonny, I swear I never would have…”

“Was it to go UC? Did your dad know?”

Sonny watches Mike cry, shoulders slumped, voice choked, and that’s all he needs. The night is painful, quiet, and the rain slapping against the windows enunciates it more than ever. “I was gonna join Joint Terrorism, you knew that,”

Sonny nods, silent.

“They said they needed to fake my death because I used to work Interrogation in the Army, and some terrorists knew me. I didn’t know until after I woke up in the hospital,”

“After you’d been shot?”

Mike sniffs and wipes at his eyes. “Yeah. After. They said I was legally declared dead, a part of the mission. Sonny, I swear on God’s name I wouldn’t have gone through with it if I knew this was what they were gonna do,”

Sonny stiffens, letting out an exhale that’s a cross between a choked sob and a sigh.

“I’m not asking you to take me back,” Mike wills his mouth to say. “I’m not even asking for forgiveness because I know I put you through hell,”

“And back.”

Mike grimaces, pained. He looks down, his chin knocking into Sonny’s hand as more tears fall from his face to the grey of Sonny’s sweatpants. "I'm sorry." A long pause.

“I love you.”

Sonny doesn’t know who says it first, only that he presses his lips to Mike’s, pinning him to the door, and between their lips they taste salt, mutual tears. Sonny’s hands roam a body so familiar, finding each dip and crevice, each scar, skin smooth and rough. Hands that shove Mike’s clothes to the floor, hands that hurry to undress.

“My bed, now.” Sonny stops and grapples for Mike’s hand. They trip over themselves, hands unable to leave each other’s bodies, lips and teeth marking and pressing. Sonny grabs Mike by the shoulders and uses his weight to drop them both into bed.

They slow down. Sonny flips them over until he’s on top, lips exploring Mike’s neck. He kisses over the rosary, whispering a silent prayer of thanks. He kisses down Mike’s chest, stopping at a new scar for a moment, his thumb tracing it just so. He doesn’t dwell on it. Hands unbuckle belt and open pants and Sonny presses their hips together, soft ecstacy leaving his lips. “Baby, _fuck_ —”

Mike turns them over. “You don’t know how long I’ve been needing to do this.”

Before Sonny can respond Mike kisses him, clothes off. He feels Mike prepare himself, fingers in and out of his body making him shake. More preparation until Sonny feels Mike’s hands slide up the back of his thighs, out of the way so they’re chest to chest. Sonny feels the muscles in Mike’s back ripple and pulls him closer. Mike starts to thrust and Sonny gasps, hands white-knuckling the sheets.

Mike’s name is a prayer on his lips, one he’ll go blind, dumb, and deaf for. One he’d do anything for. He watches his lover press his lips to his neck, marking, such sweet ecstasy.

They’re gasping, moaning, breath close to one, skin recognizing skin.

Sonny clasps at the rosary around Mike’s neck, the silver medallion on his own in place. He sees Mike come and it fills him sweet; he presses a hand on Mike’s cheek, brushing away sweat and tears, eyes open until he’s pushed his own climax.

They collapse unto each other, unable to tell where one body starts and the other ends. Mike’s weight is solid above him, unmoving, until Mike makes an effort to clean themselves up. It takes him all of one second, and Sonny clings to him for dear life once they’re done. Complete, two halves of one whole.

 

_Father, thank you for hearing my prayers._

_Father, thank you for bringing my love back to me._

_Amen._


End file.
